


Untitled

by pied_pollo



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Turn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29923590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pied_pollo/pseuds/pied_pollo
Summary: After the turn, Eurydice is facing the consequences of a new Hadestown that Hades himself is struggling to come to terms with. Above, Orpheus is too absorbed in his sorrow to sing, and it’s damaging the land of the living. Hermes and Persephone can only watch as both worlds begin to collapse.
Relationships: Eurydice/Orpheus (Hadestown)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

There was no melody when Orpheus turned around.

Eurydice didn’t know what happened. One moment, he was looking at her; and the next, she felt herself being pulled downwards and backwards, into the darkness, wind rushing in her ears. She blinked once and she was nowhere; she blinked twice and she was on the train again—

She lifted her head, and glimpsed a lady, _the_ lady, flowers woven into her hair, and it felt as if their eyes met in slow motion, but the realization clicked only milliseconds before—

Eurydice blinked a third time, and she was behind the wall, hands still reaching out towards him. For all of two seconds, she _did_ feel him, ghostly and scrabbling desperately at her wrists, but the sensation dissolved before either of them had the chance to finish saying the other’s name. Eurydice fell to her knees without the phantom support, and the sound echoed throughout the empty cavern, gray dust clouding up the air around her.

She didn’t know how long she slumped there, with her hands pressed against the cold floor and her body aching from the rough transport—maybe it was a moment, maybe it was an hour—but she _did_ know that she wasn’t alone. The girl could feel someone’s thoughtful gaze on her back, watching from a safe distance.

Eventually, he spoke: “You’re early,” Hades remarked.

“Why?” the girl asked, without looking up, and without knowing what she was asking. She had a feeling he knew, though.

And he did. “Because nothing changes,” Hades said.

“But he _did_ change it,” the girl argued, getting to her feet and turning to face him. “You _said_ he changed it. He changed _everything_ , and he still…” Tears rose to her eyes, but she fought them back. “You knew he was going to turn.”

“Your name is Eurydice,” Hades said.

The girl bristled. “I _know_ —” she started to snap, then froze. _Eurydice_. Eurydice? The name felt familiar on a tongue that wasn’t hers. Why was that? Why did she forget?

Hades didn’t seem bothered by her panic; in fact, he seemed as if he was expecting it. “Why do we build the wall?” he prompted.

Eurydice looked behind her, neck craning as she moved her gaze all the way up. “We don’t,” she said. The words sunk in. “Why don’t we?”

“Because nothing changes,” Hades said again. “The wall never kept you free.”

“What about poverty?”

“Are you experiencing poverty?”

The girl thought for a moment. “No.”

“Did you experience it here, before the wall was done?”

“No.”

“So we do not need a wall,” Hades concluded. “Just like your lover does not need you to play a song. He can play it _for_ you, but you cannot sing in his place. And the song was written long ago.”

“Whose song?”

Hades didn’t answer. “As much power as we have,” he went on, “my queen and I could not stop the boy from turning.”

“What boy?” the girl asked desperately. “Tell me his name, please.”

“Your name is Eurydice.”

“You said that.”

“You forgot it.” 

When Eurydice only blinked, Hades turned to the abyss that stretched out behind him; a factory, empty and colored red from the crimson clock that hung low in the sky above, which ticked steadily, but silently.

“We both have to wait, Eurydice,” he said after a while, his back still to her. “You more than I. But spring comes early in the world above, and the nothingness persists in this world below.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “The symphony ends.”

“Is it better that way?” Eurydice wondered aloud.

Hades turned back to face her. “It is as it should be,” he said. “And as it should be is neither right nor wrong. It just is.” He sighed, gazing back up at the wall. “No matter how sorry you are.”

“And are you?” the girl couldn’t help but ask. “Are you sorry?”

For a single second, the clock ticked audibly, and something whirred, off in the distance, as if Hadestown was voicing the king’s thoughts for him. Soon enough, however, things were silent again.

“Your name is Eurydice,” Hades said, and turned away.


	2. Chapter 2

For the first time in a long time, Persephone wanted back on the train. As in, immediately.

Spring had come again. The flowers bloomed and the fruit was ripening with each step the lady took in the world up top, but something wasn’t right. The railroad line was deserted; the station, a ghost town. Persephone swung her bag over one shoulder and looked around, curious.

It was then that she saw her.

It couldn’t have been more than a second, but Persephone turned to look at the train and caught Eurydice’s eye—Eurydice, that hungry girl who gave up her life and risked it to get it back; Eurydice, the poet’s lover.

Eurydice, who was _definitely_ not supposed to be on the train.

Persephone began to call for her, but the girl was gone before she even had the chance to open her mouth. It all happened so fast that the lady wondered if she had even been real; maybe her mind was playing tricks on her; or it might have been the wind, preying on her fears.

The lack of people at the station didn’t help matters, though, and Persephone ran as fast as she could to the bar, green grass shooting up underneath her heels. The earth struggled to keep up as she hurried through a concerningly empty town, but by the time she got there, the world above was flooded in fresh flowers and golden sunlight. And for some reason, it didn’t matter anymore.

At the bar, Hermes was busy cleaning glasses at the small sink behind the counter, waiting. The patrons inside hunched over their drinks and candles, all acknowledging but not celebrating the greening world outside, and instead casting solemn glances to the empty stool next to the piano, or poking their heads towards the stairs, where the boy had stayed, prior to everything.

The front door opened. Persephone stormed over to the counter and threw her bag on the table without a care in the world.

“The poet,” she stated.

Hermes did not turn to face her. “The poet,” he said slowly, “lost his voice.” He set the cleaned glass and rag to the side. “Let’s talk upstairs.”

* * *

“You _abandoned_ him?” Persephone exclaimed.

Hermes furrowed his brow. “Now, how in Hades’s name did you come to _that_ conclusion?” he asked, a note of annoyance lacing his voice.

Persephone put her hands on her hips. “You _know_ he turned, Hermes,” she growled, “and you _know_ where he was when he did so. And you didn’t look for him? Did you expect him to just—what? Pick up his things and skip back to the bar on his own? Go _home_ , on his own?”

“I’m letting him grieve.”

“ _Grieve_?” Persephone scoffed. “This is beyond _grieving_ , brother. He’s just a boy—”

“He’s not a—”

“—he’s a _boy_ ,” Persephone insisted angrily, “and he lost the woman he _went to hell for_ —he’s injured, he’s alone, and you _left him in a field_ to _die?”_

“I didn’t _leave_ him!” Hermes snapped, rising to his feet as well. “And he isn’t dead.”

“Oh, of course not. Because I would have seen _him_ on the damn train, too! How silly of me to forget!”

“Persephone,” Hermes warned, “you know our limitations.”

His voice wavered, though, and the lady noticed. Her brain made the connection in an instant. She knew that tone; she _used_ that tone, when passing a glass to the workers below as they slaved away, or singing to the men above after coming home late for the millionth time.

“Is that what this is about?” Persephone asked, quieter this time. “Guilt?” When Hermes didn’t respond, she crossed the room to sit at his side. “This wasn’t your fault, Hermes.”

Hermes sighed, shoulder slumping. “We all knew he’d turn,” he murmured. “Just feels like...maybe there was something we could have done. And I _can’t_ see him, Seph,” he added, when Persephone opened her mouth, “I just can’t. Not like that; not after everything. It’s too much.”

Persephone put a hand on his knee. “We all did as much as we could.”

Hermes put his hand over hers. “But it wasn’t enough.” He gave her something of a half-smile before rising to his feet. “I need to get back to the bar.”

“What about Orpheus?” Persephone stood as well. “I want to see him, even if you won’t.”

Hermes’s eyes were sad. “You’ll find him,” he said, “when he wants you to.”

What was _that_ supposed to mean?

As if he could tell she was wondering, Hermes called over his shoulder as he left, “Springtime didn’t reach everyone, sister.”

* * *

_Weather ain’t the way it was before,_ the wind mused.

“Go away,” Orpheus sobbed.

It was cold. So, so cold; the brief sunlight he had been able to see before exiting the tunnel had vanished, leaving nothing but hard-packed earth and frigid air where the grass should have been.

The song hadn’t worked.

At least, not for him.

Persephone wandered through the fields for a few hours after speaking with Hermes, calling for the poet occasionally, but not expecting nor receiving an answer. Creatures came up to rub thankfully at her legs every so often, but they, too, seemed sad. In fact, the deeper through the fields she walked, the sadder they seemed, and the less they became; a cruel sign that she was getting closer.

Someone was humming. Three people, actually; soft and melodic and icy. Persephone shooed away the wind, but this time, it shooed back, sending her hair flying into her face. Well, that was new.

“Go away.”

That was not.

It was only a whisper, but she knew who it was.

Persephone quickened her pace, and the earth moved to accommodate. It took a moment for her to realize that it wasn’t, however; the ground was flat, but cold and solid underfoot; no flowers or weeds blocked her path because there weren’t any growing.

And all of the sudden, a burst of chilly wind threw her backwards.

Persephone rightened herself and took a few steps forward, confused. She turned, and saw the world behind her was untouched and lush with plants and animals. Strange…

_Lover_ , the wind cooed, _tell me if you can: why did you stand with your fellow man?_

Persephone frowned. “Excuse me?”

_Kings being what they are,_ the wind continued. _Hearts are getting harder all the time._

“Excuse me?” Persephone repeated, speaking to it directly this time, despite having a feeling it wasn’t talking to her. “What are you doing?”

_You don’t have jurisdiction here,_ the wind sneered. 

Okay, now it was speaking to her. Persephone bristled.

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s springtime,” she said. “I’ll advise you to get moving, please.”

_Oh, you’ll_ advise _it?_ the wind mocked her. _Sister, do you see him? Your boy isn’t going anywhere for a long, long time, and we ain’t either. At least,_ it added, _not without that song. And since...well. We can see how long this springtime lasts._

“We can,” Persephone growled, “seeing as, you know—I’m the _goddess_ of spring?”

_So confident._

“I’d say so.”

The wind didn’t reply. Persephone could imagine that it was laughing at her. And why that was, she would know soon enough, because just as she began to continue her walk, the lady stopped in her tracks.

“Oh, poet,” she breathed.

_You see now?_ the wind asked.

She did.

Because after the turn, Orpheus hadn’t moved. He was frozen to the ground with his voice stuck in his throat, and the world around him felt it was only fair to do the same.


	3. Chapter 3

Hades didn’t like the quiet.

That’s what Hadestown was at the moment, since the song; since the boy left and the girl came back; since _everything…_

Since Persephone left.

The only hot thing in the factory was the carnation that was currently burning a hole in the king’s breast pocket. Hades slid it from his coat and held it in cupped palms, as if it were some small animal, and found that somehow—even in _his_ hands—the petals hadn’t wilted. Maybe it was Persephone’s magic; her love, keeping it safe. Hades would have liked to think so.

Enough dwelling. There was work to be done...

No.

There wasn’t.

Hades paced the office, then moved onto the balcony, staring out at empty floors and a quiet amphitheater. Where was everyone? Not that it mattered...it was still good, to keep track of the workers. Subjects. Citizens…?

“Souls,” a sweet voice reminded him. Hades didn’t need to turn to know it was Clotho. “Whatcha’ gonna do now?” she asked, arms dangling over the edge of the balcony.

“The people are free,” Hades rumbled.

Another woman materialized on his other side; Atropos. “Free,” she mused, speaking slowly, as if the word was unfamiliar to her. “You don’t sound free.”

“The king cannot be free,” Hades told her. “The king bears the burden of the nation.”

To his dismay, the three women burst into laughter.

“I made a promise,” Hades snarled, brushing them away and moving down the stairs. “I’m _trying.”_

“What an _old_ song,” Lachesis whined, materializing next to him. “Trying. Trying.”

“Failing,” Atropos added.

“Trying,” Clotho continued, “and then failing again.”

“But still trying,” Lachesis finished.

Hades crossed the room. “Persephone called it hope,” he told them.

“Hope?” Lachesis echoed.

Clotho crossed her arms. “Hope for what?” When Hades didn’t answer, she took his hand. “Hope ain’t a thing down here.”

“Hope ain’t a thing at _all,_ ” Atropos corrected her, taking Hades’s other hand. Together, they led him down a wide hallway, with Lachesis taking up the back, and Hades caught himself looking for...souls, right. That was the word. There were probably more words, more stories.

Suddenly, it mattered who was in his office. The contracts all had signatures, but Hades stopped looking at them some time ago. When was that? How strange, he couldn’t remember.

The Fates led him to a concrete field. The dust hovered a good foot above the ground, parting like clouds when Hades placed a foot down—which meant he did not see when his foot met only empty air.

Clotho tugged him backwards just before he could fall. “Look,” she ordered, pointing out over the edge of the cliff.

Hades did look, and saw the Styx, murky and garnet and bubbling against stony banks. What was more interesting, however, was the apparitions that flit across and around, popping occasionally in and out, existing when they pleased. Only one worker—no, _soul_ , he had to remember that—remained completely visible, and she sat at the edge of the river, cross-legged, fingers moving over a red flower.

The girl.

“Eurydice,” Atropos reminded him.

Eurydice.

“A _hungry_ young girl,” Lachesis sighed, shaking her head.

Hades frowned. “She isn’t hungry anymore. I saved her.”

Lachesis’s eyebrows raised, and she gave her sisters a mischievous look. It was Clotho who spoke up for her: “Not _that_ kind of hungry, brother.” When Hades only made a face, she explained, “You will recall the boy?”

“The _boy?_ He left. He turned.” Hades scoffed, shaking his head dismissively. “He failed her.”

_“You_ failed her,” Atropos insisted.

“Which ‘her’?”

Clotho grinned. “Take your pick,” she offered.

Hades swatted their hands away. “The boy means nothing to me,” he announced, turning away from the river, the girl, the flower. “If he loved her that much, he wouldn’t have turned.”

“Wouldn’t he have?” Lachesis countered, sitting down and dangling her legs over the edge of the cliff. “He couldn’t stand the thought of leaving without her.”

“Couldn’t stand the thought of you tricking him,” Atropos agreed.

Clotho shook her head, dismayed. “How romantic.”

“How _foolish,”_ Hades snapped, marching away from the cliff, but not yet returning to the amphitheater. The Fates lingered. “I did not trick him. She was behind him. I made that clear, and he still turned. It’s his own fault.”

The Fates only hummed in unison, disbelief lacing their tones.

“I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you,” Hades growled. “The wall is down. There is food. There is shelter. The girl has everything she needs. What does she crave that Hadestown hasn’t provided?”

“Ask her yourself,” Atropos crooned.

“That is,” Clotho reminded them, “if she remembers.”

Hades rolled his eyes, and began to speak, but Lachesis beat him to it, tapping his shoulder and pointing back over the cliff. “Or,” she suggested, “ _he_ might.”

Hades narrowed his eyes. “‘He’?”

* * *

Hermes watched Persephone leave the bar in search for Orpheus from his spot at the bar. Only a few patrons were left nursing their drinks, so he wiped down the counter and called out for ten minutes until closing time.

Once everyone was gone and the bar had been tidied—it had been a slow day, like every day this past week, since the turn—Hermes locked up and hung his jacket on one of the pegs next to the stage; next to the apron that hung, untouched, collecting dust.

But the apron had also been washed and bleached. Hermes didn’t remember laundering it—it must have been the two old patrons he had seen yesterday, trying to act discreet. And Orpheus’s spare lyre rested, propped up, against the stage, knobs stiff, but chords tuned—that was the band’s doing.

A familiar pang of guilt strummed off-key in Hermes’s heart. Persephone was right—he had abandoned Orpheus. No doubt about it; Hermes had found him, shaking and sobbing into the ground, then simply stepped back and begged for someone else— _anyone_ else—to handle the situation.

But there was no one. Orpheus was a poor boy under _Hermes’s_ wing, and that featherless poor boy lost his songbird that day. How could Hermes have expected him to fly as easily as before? It was a mistake the god needed to amend, and immediately.

How could he, though, when Orpheus’s apron and lyre were too painful to glance at for more than a second at a time?

Hermes tapped his foot against the floor, anxious and angry with himself. There had to be something he could do. He grabbed the broom and swept off the stage, despite there not being much dust, then transported the dustpan to the trash—

_Oh._

Hermes set the broom and pan to the side and bent down, fingers trembling, to dig out the small paper flower that rested in the trash can. It had been months since Orpheus had created it—what was it doing there? Another passerby, it seemed, or maybe, the gods were just mocking him now. Hermes could make a large bet on either, and he felt tears begin to rise to his eyes, but he swept them away quickly.

Enough was enough.

His feet knew the way. Hermes began one step in the direction of the railroad track and landed his foot in Hadestown, the paper flower in hand.

She was the first one he saw.

Eurydice’s back was to him, and her head was tilted downwards, into the river. Hermes took a few cautious steps forward and cleared his throat, which made her jump a little, but when she turned, her eyes were calm.

Calm, because she didn’t recognize him.

“Eurydice?” Hermes ventured.

It took a moment, but to his relief, Eurydice smiled. “Mr. Hermes,” she realized, jumping to her feet. “Mr. Hermes, how—oh, right. How is…?”

“He’s not good,” Hermes confessed. “He really misses you.”

“Why?”

Hermes was taken aback. “What?” he blurted out, having forgotten the Lethe situation. Maybe he expected things to have changed more.

“No one’s telling me who he is,” Eurydice explained, her voice soft. In her hand was a red flower, and she held it out. “I think I’m waiting for him—or he’s waiting for me? I just—” She shook her head as if to clear it, then took Hermes’s hand with desperate eyes. “Why don’t I remember him?”

“His—”

“Mr. Hermes.”

Hermes turned around to see Hades overlooking them from a cliff.

“You don’t belong here,” he continued, arms folded.

Hermes returned the gesture. “I can go where I please,” he reminded him.

“Not down here.”

“I thought you had changed.”

“Me? Yes.” Hades’s eyes were cold. “Which is why you don’t need to be here.”

“Why can’t she remember?” Hermes challenged him.

If he squinted, he could catch the tiniest flicker of something unrecognizable in Hades’s eyes. “Let’s speak alone, Mr. Hermes.” There was a snarl in his voice.

“I think Eurydice should be allowed to hear this, _sir_ ,” Hermes huffed, with just as much bite, but moved back anyway. Before he did, however, the flower returned to his mind, and he dug through his pockets until he found it, then gave it to Eurydice.

“Hermes,” Hades warned.

Hermes ignored him, tucking the paper flower into Eurydice’s palms and closing his hands around them, holding tight for a moment.

“Orpheus, Eurydice,” he told her, slowly and clearly. “Orpheus.”

Eurydice held his gaze with teary eyes. “Orpheus,” she echoed, the trace of a melody in her voice. Hermes nodded. “And Eurydice,” she added.

_“Hermes,”_ Hades growled again.

Hermes brought Eurydice’s hands to his lips before letting go, leaving the paper flower in her possession. He took a winding staircase to Hades, who tapped his foot impatiently against the ground, then silently led the way back into the amphitheater, up the stairs, and onto the balcony.

“ _Now_ will you tell me?” Hermes demanded.

Hades’s mouth was pressed in a firm line. “Step into my office,” he directed, holding the door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I’ll go back and add chapter titles to this. Or, you know, an actual fic title.


End file.
